The Man of Their Lives

by Françoise Bourdin

  Breads and salad accompanied the cheese, but Frank was more interested in drinking the Château Lalande-Pomerol that Louis had selected. When he bit into a muenster with a particularly sharp taste, he pushed his plate away with disgust.

  “Man, that stuff,” he said, “it’s like it’s been rotting for two months.”

  “It’s delicious,” Billy said eating enough for two.

  Frank glared at his assistant then shrugged and said, “Where are you taking us now, Lou-iss?”

  “I don’t know any gay bars, but I could find out.”

  “No, no, Francine wouldn’t have fun in a place like that.”

  “Okay, then,” Louis said. “I know where to go. If it’s only a matter of getting drunk, it’s no problem.”

  When the maitre d’ handed Louis the check, Frank leaned over to see the total.

  “That much for cheese!” he said, chuckling. “But you can afford it, you wrote that horrific Pacific—because of me! I hope that success is not going to be an excuse to raise your rates?”

  “How dare you talk money at the table?” Louis said, in mock anger. “Your producer and my agent will take care of that.”

  He got up first and asked a waiter to call a cab. Still very comfortable, Francine was chatting with Billy about fashion. Not only was she entertained, she was at the heart of the conversation. Alix would’ve be too if she’d been here, but in a much more artificial manner. Louis had gone through some pretty painful business meals in her company, all of which made him feel like he was some sort of consumer product. Alix did a great job of selling him, never wondering whether he’d be able to deliver the goods. Blind confidence in his talent as a musician or simple business bravado? Louis couldn’t tell.

  When Francine climbed into the cab, her skirt exposed her thighs giving Louis an irresistible urge to kiss her, or at least touch her. But Frank sat between the two of them, while Billy occupied the front seat with the driver. The ride ended on the Left Bank, in front of Tom’s club. Inside, they headed upstairs to a calmer room that looked down on the dance floor.

  “I want some whisky!” Frank shouted in Louis’s ear.

  “What, no rubbing alcohol tonight, no absinthe?”

  He left the table in search of Tom, and Frank had a sly smile on his face as he watched him walk away.

  “We’re going to have a great time on this production,” he told Francine. “When I tell Louis what I expect of him, he’s going to blow a fuse!”

  “It’s really about vampires?”

  “It’s even worse than that.”

  “One thing is certain—you like topics that are…”

  “The topic doesn’t matter. It’s the way you handle the camera that’s important.”

  That afternoon she’d watched one of his movies with Romain. It was harsh and violent, but it kept her on the edge of her seat until the final credits.

  “Why did you pick Louis?” she said.

  “Because he’s one of the most talented musicians I know. And also because he’s fairly malleable. Since he’s not convinced of his own talent, it’s still possible to make him reach deep down inside.”

  Frank spoke with cynicism but his pale gaze remained mischievous.

  “In my business,” he continued, “music is critically important. A great score can save a mediocre movie. Any idiot can see that his score to Setting Sun is brilliant, filled with original stuff. As soon as I heard it, I knew I wanted to work with the guy who composed it. I bought all of Louis’s CDs, but most of his work is way too classical. He doesn’t take any risks, coasting on what he knows best. I push him. I force him to go beyond those boundaries he’s set for himself.”

  He extricated a small tin from the inside his breast pocket that contained a cigar. He examined it for a bit and asked, “May I?”

  “Sure,” Francine said.

  “Would you like Billy to dance with you?”

  “I’d like that. But first, I want a drink.”

  “Yes. That damned cheese made me thirsty!”

  He understood that she didn’t want to leave him alone. Her excessive politeness amused him. He leaned her way and looked at her with such intensity that she felt embarrassed.

  “Francine,” he said. “Let me be honest with you. If Louis was twenty years younger… Or even ten…”

  Deliberately, he didn’t finish his sentence, his eyes still on Francine. Billy reacted, turning to them. But she ignored him.

  “And you think I’d stand around and do nothing?” she said.

  Frank’s enormous laugh surprised Tom, who was coming over with Louis and a waiter. Still laughing, the American was holding Francine’s hand in his, as though he was congratulating her. Louis wondered what they’d said to each other that made them look so happy. After the introductions, Frank gulped down the whisky that the waiter had just set in front of him.

  “It would go faster if you used an IV,” Louis told him.

  The bottle was on the table, and he poured Frank another glass. Billy got up and bowed in front of Francine.

  “Are you going to be jealous if they dance together?” Frank asked.

  Louis simply smiled, looking at Billy and Francine heading for the staircase.

  “She looks great,” Tom said.

  Francine’s dark blue outfit shimmered in the club’s lights and emphasized her petite figure, her long legs, her beautiful hair.

  “Are things getting better?” Tom asked Louis, in French.

  “No, worse. Fred and Romain got into a fist fight the other day. Can you believe it? What about you? With Alix?”

  “Nothing. It was rough going for a while. For me, I mean. But I’m beginning to get used to it. I realized that I can live without her. I wouldn’t have bet five francs on that last month!”

  He said it in a sad and sincere manner. Frank was looking at the dance floor below, where fifty people were frantically dancing to some reggae tune. Billy and Francine seemed to be having fun, ignoring the younger crowd going crazy around them.

  “Your American,” Tom said, leaning toward Louis, “that’s not how I’d imagined him.”

  “He’s not really what I’d call a friend, you know.”

  Louis had been careful not to drink to much, knowing that he couldn’t keep up with Frank. Still, he was beginning to feel tired. He remembered passing out in Los Angeles without having the strength to get undressed.

  “Where can we go after we leave here?” he asked Tom. “It’s only two in the morning; there’s no way he’s going to want to go back to his hotel room now.”

  “Go to the Petit Journal. It’s not as noisy as in here.”

  Frank had tired of watching the crowd and he was back facing them. As he was reaching for the bottle, the opening notes of Pacific blasted out of the speakers. From behind his console, the DJ waved at Louis, who he’d just recognized.

  “The guy is doing that for your sake?” Frank asked.

  “We play this song ten times a night,” Tom answered, in English.

  The American shook his head, a look of disgust on his face.

  “You never should’ve attached your name to that song,” he said. “You’re going to wind up composing elevator music if you keep it up! Your agent didn’t think of making you use a pseudonym? Then he’s incompetent. You should fire him or he’s going to screw up your career.”

  Stunned, Louis fumbled for a reply. Frank was serious. He spoke with the unequivocal and professional tone he used on the set. For his part, he never made concessions. His movies had proved him to be provocative, a boundary pusher, amoral, morbid even. He never took the easy route, and was now an elite director who could get any project funded.

  Tom wasn’t moving. He was as startled as Louis by the severity of Frank’s pronouncement. He was extremely happy that Alix wasn’t there to hear it. Frank cracked a mocking smile.

  “Lou-iss,” he said, “don’t be so shocked. Don’t tell me you didn’t think about it yourself. You never should listen to people, you
know that, especially those who make money off you. Come, drink with me.”

  Frank filled three glasses and grabbed his with a steady hand. Alcohol seemed to have no effect on him. He remained clear-minded, acerbic. Himself. Reluctantly, Louis took a sip of his drink and then leaned over the table.

  “My agent,” he said calmly, “is my twin sister. She’s also Tom’s girlfriend.”

  If he thought that the revelation was going to embarrass Frank, he quickly realized that it wasn’t the case.

  “My God,” he said, laughing, “what a small country this is! You guys really have to keep everything in the family? How do you expect to make things work properly?”

  He was still laughing when Billy and Francine came back to the table. They were both dying of thirst and out of breath. Francine let herself drop on the leather seat, right next to him. Louis seemed to be in a good mood, in high spirits even though he’d been hammered by Frank’s brutal honesty. In a spontaneous and tender gesture, Louis held her by the waist so they’d be touching. He felt how hot she was from the dancing, how fast her heart was beating. With his free hand, he poured some Perrier in a tall glass and handed it to her. He watched her drink until she set her eyes on him.

  “What about me?” he said. “Want to dance?”

  Nobody, not even Marianne, had ever made him fell this. Francine moved him at the most unexpected moments. He let go of her so they could stand up and took hold of her hand. Frank’s mocking voice stopped him from going any further.

  “Oh no! This one is for me. May I?”

  The American let Francine go first, and he said with the largest grin he could muster, “You really are too romantic, Lou-iss!”

  CHAPTER 13

  Romain ran the rag over the kitchen table one more time. Taking a last glance around, he made sure everything was up to snuff. No one would suspect that they’d had a candlelight dinner here last night. As for breakfast, he’d brought it to Élise in bed.

  He took a clean mug from the dish tray and poured himself a bit of coffee. Élise had left an hour ago. She’d told her parents that she was spending the night at her best friend’s house. Her first night as a young woman. Romain felt he’d done well. He’d been patient, even though he was also a novice.

  The washing machine was humming in the background. Romain had put the sheets in the machine a few minutes ago. Distracted, he observed the soapy bubbles in the laundry. He was most thrilled by how Élise had said his name. It filled him with ecstasy when they were making love, and just before she fell asleep.

  “Romain. Are you there?” she’d whispered.

  He didn’t hear his mother come home. She stepped into the kitchen and went over to her son.

  “Everything okay?” she asked, running a hand through his hair.

  The question made Romain smile.

  “Very, very good,” he said, slowly.

  Francine took a step back and gave her son the once-over. Her grownup son, in love.

  “Any more coffee?” she asked.

  She didn’t want to ask any specific questions. He would talk about things if he felt like it.

  “Did you come home late?” he asked.

  Francine was wearing one of Louis’s T-shirts, making her look even more petite and mischievous. She took off her shoes and felt the cool of the linoleum floor.

  “Five in the morning,” she said. “I can’t remember the last time I did that!”

  “And Frank James, how is he?”

  “Almost impossible to describe. He’s cynical, bossy, horribly American, but with so much charisma everybody falls under his spell. He’s going to make a vampire movie here in France and Louis is supposed to compose the music. They’re going to shoot the movie in Dordogne, and if you feel like heading down there for a weekend, we’re invited.”

  “You’re kidding…”

  Stunned, he made sure his mother wasn’t pulling his leg, and then burst out laughing.

  “That’s amazing, Mom!”

  He handed her a cup of coffee and she sat down.

  “You should have a nap,” Romain suggested.

  “You too, right?”

  They looked at each other with tender complicity. She said, “We should both have a nap and then we’ll have lunch. What time to do you have to set up?”

  Romain and his band were performing that night as part of the town’s Music Fest. Another sleepless night ahead, but he was thrilled about it. Élise had promised to be there early and stay with him the entire evening.

  “Are you coming to the show?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “What about Louis?”

  He asked the question in a detached way that still felt forced Maybe Louis’s opinion mattered more to him than he was ready to admit.

  “He’s supposed to meet up with me at eleven.”

  Nothing was simple when it came to their sons. Frédéric wanted to go to the Fest, like every other teenager in town. Louis had promised to drive him there, and then take him home.

  “We’re going together. He’s eager to see you and your band play. But he’s also going to have to take care of his son...”

  On her guard, she waited for Romain’s reaction, but all he produced was a grimace of disdain before saying, “Normal. He’s daddy’s little boy.”

  Frédéric’s antics at the party hadn’t ruined things between Romain and Élise, but Romain still hadn’t forgotten that bruise under his eye. One of these days he was going to take care of him, away from his mother and Louis. All he needed was the opportunity.

  “Are you and Louis still madly in love?” he asked, his eyes fixed on Francine.

  Obviously his mother was in love—she was radiant. Now, he could enjoy his own relationship without any afterthoughts.

  “Yes, we really are,” she said.

  “I’m very happy for you.”

  He meant what he said, though the fleeting vision of Antoine all alone in his house crossed his mind.

  “Go have your nap,” he told his mother.

  Francine abstained from laughing at such bossiness from a young man so responsible and self-assured. Élise was a lucky gal, she thought. Few boys displayed Romain’s thoughtfulness. She wasn’t objective, but Francine felt she’d raised her son right.

  * * *

  Tom almost changed his mind and turned around when he saw Alix’s car parked in the driveway. Louis had insisted, the night before, that he come for dinner at Notre-Dame-de-la-Mer. He’d finally accepted when he thought that it would be a good test. The sight of the MG was enough to shatter any illusions he may have held.

  “Tom!” Hugues shouted, appearing out of nowhere. “Good to see you. It’s been a long time!”

  Perched upon Frédéric’s old bicycle, he was setting up a treasure hunt for his daughter.

  “You’re in the way,” he said. “Move your car over there with the others. Laura cooked a leg of lamb in your honor. She’s in town now, buying some fresh vegetables.”

  Hugues’ kindness was so spontaneous that Tom suddenly felt much better.

  “Where’s Louis?” he asked.

  “At his Steinway. He’s pretending to compose, but I’m sure he’s sleeping.”

  After all these years, Tom felt like he was home in this house. He parked behind the Alfa Romeo, now glad he’d come. Too bad if Alix got upset about it, he was Louis’s guest. Determined, he walked to the end of the house.

  “Hey, Tom!”

  Sitting in a rocking chair on the veranda, a newspaper in his lap, Grégoire was all smiles.

  “Tom, you snob,” he said, “you haven’t graced this house with your presence for such a long time!”

  Tom grinned. “Grégoire,” he said, “how are you doing?”

  “Great. It’s summertime and I love it. We’ll be staying here for a few days. It’s much more comfortable than in Paris when it’s this hot...”

  Grégoire eyed Tom, but refrained from asking any questions. He always believed that Tom would be an ideal son-
in-law, one of the few men who could deal with Alix. He was very worried that they’d split up.

  “If you’re looking for the twins…” Grégoire said, pointing at the music room.

  Tom was about to head over, but the old man raised him hand.

  “Wait a second,” he said. “You’re going to say it’s none of my business, but I think that you two should make up.”

  “Well, I...”

  “Let me finish! It’s hard enough to discuss your private life, and if you interrupt me... Okay, listen, my daughter isn’t perfect, God knows. Even though she’s pretending like everything’s fine and dandy, she’s heartbroken. I thought you should know that.”

  As soon as he finished his sentence, Grégoire grabbed his paper and went back to the crossword. Tom stayed put for a few seconds, not knowing what to do. He walked away silently. Alix, “heartbroken”? Sure, he’d seen her cry, once, but the notion of Alix being inconsolable seemed far-fetched.

  When Tom entered the music room, he saw Louis sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, while Alix was pacing around the piano.

  “Hello, you two,” he said, slowly.

  Alix reacted with a start. Smiling Louis got to his feet.

  “Traffic wasn’t too bad?” he said. “I’m happy you’re here.”

  They shook hands and looked at each other.

  “The night was long, it seemed to me,” Tom said.

  “I’m dead on my feet. Frank is tireless, a machine. Have you met my sister?”

  The joke made Alix smile.

  Tom, for his part, replied, “I may have seen her from afar once or twice.”

  “I’m going to take a shower,” Louis announced. “Maybe it’ll help me wake up. I need to have enough energy for Music Fest tonight!”

  A few quick steps and Louis reached the stairs and vanished.

  “If that was a trap, you guys aren’t too subtle,” Alix hissed.

  “I can leave if you’d like me to.”